


Aftermath (Drarry)

by IzzyNike



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Guilt, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-27
Updated: 2019-01-18
Packaged: 2019-05-14 13:13:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 21,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14770295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IzzyNike/pseuds/IzzyNike
Summary: There's no one who was affected by the Second Wizarding War as much as Harry Potter - or was there? An accidental crossing of paths in the Room of Requirement changes everything for the Boy Who Lived.





	1. "War Wounds Aren't Just Physical"

 

_Have you forgotten yet?..._  
_For the world's events have rumbled on since those gagged days,_  
_Like traffic checked while at the crossing of city-ways:_  
_And the haunted gap in your mind has filled with thoughts that flow_  
_Like clouds in the lit heaven of life; and you're a man reprieved to go,_  
_Taking your peaceful share of Time, with joy to spare._  
_But the past is just the same--and War's a bloody game..._  
_Have you forgotten yet?..._  
_Look down, and swear by the slain of the War that you'll never forget._

_(Siegfried Sassoon)_

 

**HARRY:**

Harry stared at his reflection in the glimmering water of the lake. It was a beautiful day at Hogwarts, but he had barely noticed. He glared at his unruly black hair that reminded him so much of his father. This unpleasant thought evoked a string of unpleasant thoughts. _Dad; Sirius; Lupin; Tonks; Fred; Hedwig; Dumbledore._ He had only been back at Hogwarts to complete his eighth year for a week and already his feelings of alienation were becoming overwhelming.

 Looking up from his seat on the warm grass next to the lake, Harry glanced around the grounds, glowering at the people chatting heartily with their friends under the blazing sun. He signed with indignation, wishing he could be so jovial. He couldn't feel at ease around anyone anymore - not after everything that had happened the previous year. He was viewed by the whole wizarding community with either reverence or fear - sometimes both - and he couldn't stand it.

 Just as Harry was standing up and preparing to head back to the common room (he was hoping there would be fewer people in there), his eyes rested on a figure sat, as he himself had just been, on the edge of the lake, gazing into its murky depth. Draco Malfoy. Harry paused briefly and studied him; he seemed paler than usual and, by the looks of his unkempt hair and clothes, he had rather neglected his appearance when getting ready that morning.

 Suddenly, as if he had felt Harry's eyes on him, Malfoy looked up and met Harry's eyes across the water. They held eye contact for a fleeting moment before Malfoy looked away, his face having turned slightly pink, and stood up, hurrying towards the castle doors. Harry stood for a second, shocked at the vulnerability he had witnessed in Malfoy's eyes, before following him inside and heading to the Gryffindor common room.

  "Peppermint", Harry said to the Fat Lady when he reached the common room. The portrait swung open and Harry clambered in through the hole. The common room was almost empty; the only people in there were Ron and Hermione - the very last people he wanted to see. He considered just turning back around and leaving the room but before he could decide what to do, Hermione had spotted him.

 "There you are, Harry!" she said, smiling. "We've been wondering where you were." Harry doubted very much that they had been wondering where he was; they had been very preoccupied with each other lately, namely, the discovery of the other's lips. It wasn’t that he didn’t like their relationship – in fact, he was glad that at least some good had come out of the war and he was happy to see his two best friends happy together – but the more time they spent kissing, the less time he could spend with them, and he was feeling more and more lonely by the day. He supposed he was being selfish as, in a way, he was the one isolating himself.

 "I was just outside," he said, waving his hand dismissively. He walked across the common room and sunk down into an armchair by the fire. He wondered if he should tell Ron and Hermione about Malfoy but quickly rejected the idea, remembering their 6th year at Hogwarts. He gazed into the flames, trying to think of a way to escape the common room without seeming rude. _Dammit_ , he thought, _why do I always have to be so polite? I'm sick of it_. Then, having made up his mind, he pushed himself up from his chair and walked back across the common room to the portrait hole.

 "Harry, mate, where are you going?" Ron asked as he left. Harry ignored him. Once he was out in the corridor, he quickly considered where he could go. He decided on the library without needing much thought: surely no one would want to be in the library on a day like today.

 Harry slowly made his way through the castle on his way to the library, looking around him at the state of the corridors. Hogwarts had not yet been fully restored after the battle that took place there a few months earlier; places where something was missing (what was missing could be as extreme as a chunk of the wall or as trivial as a portrait) could be spotted all over the castle.

 When Harry had finally reached the library, he saw that there were only two people in there: Madam Pince, who was dusting the shelves of the aisle nearest to the restricted section, and none other than Draco Malfoy, who was reading at the table nearest to Harry with his head resting heavily in his left hand. Malfoy looked up at him as he walked in but quickly looked back down at his book. Harry, who had expected some sort of snide remark from Malfoy ("Following me again, are we, Potter?" he imagined), lingered for a moment before heading to the table on the other side of a bookshelf from him.

 Harry sat down on a hard, wooden chair and leant forward to rest his forehead on the table, relishing in the quiet and stillness of the library. He briefly wondered why he had never noticed how calming this place was but quickly dismissed his curiosity; he knew full well that he had never had even a moment of quiet and stillness before in his life. Ever since he had arrived at Hogwarts at just age 11, he always seemed to be doing something: schoolwork, fighting evil, and everything in between.

 After lifting his head off the table, Harry rummaged around in his bag and pulled out the first volume of ‘Practical Defensive Magic and its Use Against the Dark Arts’. His eyes lingered on the cover of the book for a moment as Harry was unable to stop the thoughts of Sirius and Remus, who had given him the books. When he had finished reminiscing, he opened the book and began to flick through it absentmindedly. He had read through all the volumes in the set that summer when he had too much time to think. The last summer had been the worst summer of his life. It had been filled with funerals and interviews and horrible nightmares – yet somehow, he still found time to be consumed by thoughts he did not want.

 “Shouldn’t you be getting to dinner, Potter?” Harry jerked his head up to see that the words had come from Madam Pince, who was standing facing his table with her feather duster in one hand and the other hand on her hip.

 “I- Oh- I didn’t realise the time,” he said, surprised that she wasn’t shouting at him for once.

 “Yes. Well. Off you go.” She shook the feather duster at him threateningly, as if to shoo him, and stalked away. He closed his book and shoved it unceremoniously back into his bag before leaving the library and heading back to the common room to drop it off.

 

 When Harry walked into the Great Hall, dinner was already underway. He headed over to the Gryffindor table and spotted the fiery red hair and bushy brown hair of his best friends.

 "Hey," he said, sitting down opposite them at the table.

 "Where did you go? You just ran out on us." Hermione asked, giving him one of her you're-in-big-trouble glares.

 "Yeah. Sorry. I went to the library." He began dishing food out onto his plate to avoid her gaze.

 "You what?" Ron sputtered, his mouth full of food. He swallowed quickly before continuing, "You'd better have been doing something important, mate."

"I was looking at those books Sirius and Remus got me," he said, his eyes fixed on his plate as he began to eat.

 "Oh." Ron looked down at his food as Harry looked up at him. His eyes flicked to Hermione, who was still watching him.

 "Did you find anything interesting? Anything that would help with becoming an Auror?" She asked.

 Harry hesitated before replying. He wasn't even sure he wanted to be an Auror anymore. The thought of more fighting made him feel sick. He couldn't tell Hermione that, though. He didn't want her to worry. "Not really. Nothing new anyway. I've read them all before." He thought he saw a flicker of surprise across her face, but she nodded. "And anyway, it's not like I need help getting in. The ministry's practically begging me to go and work for them."

 "I guess everyone wants a piece of the famous Harry Potter, huh?" It was Ginny. She sat down next to Harry and started dishing up her food.

 He grinned at her, grateful for someone to break up the awkwardness between him and Ron and Hermione. "Yeah, I guess so."

 "How come you're so late for dinner?" Ron asked her.

 "I was with Luna and Neville," she replied. "Luna was teaching us how to charm plants to dance."

 Ron snorted. "I bet Neville loved that."

 "Oh, he did. He was very impressed. So was I actually."

 Harry watched out of the corner of his eyes as Ginny began to eat. She seemed happy - happier than he'd seen her in a while. They'd spent a lot of time together over the holidays, although they'd decided that neither of them was ready for a relationship this soon after the war. He felt like she was the closest to understanding him and he was the most comfortable talking to her.

 He ate in silence, listening to Hermione telling Ron about the importance of school work. When they were finished eating, they excused themselves and walked out of the Great Hall together.

 It was Ginny’s turn to snort. “They’re probably going off to snog in some deserted corridor.”

 Harry smiled and nodded. “Yeah, they do seem to be doing that a lot.”

 “It’s weird,” she said. “I never imagined Ron would do that much snogging ever again. Not after Lavender.”

 “I guess he’s found the right person,” Harry replied, no longer smiling. He hated being reminded of all the deaths that the Battle of Hogwarts caused.

 “Oh, Harry, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean- “

 “No, it’s okay.”

 They ate in silence until they were both finished and then they headed back to the common room together. When they were nearing the common room, Ginny stopped and turned to face Harry.

 “Are you alright, Harry?”

 “I’m fine.”

 “I know you’re not fine.”

 He sighed. “Well, I’m not any worse than I have been since the war.”

 “Okay.” She nodded slightly. “Just remember what McGonagall said: get help if you need it.”

 “Yes, yes. I remember her whole ‘war wounds aren’t just physical’ speech perfectly well thank you very much. I don’t need to you repeat it.”

 “Oh, don’t worry, I wasn’t planning to. We’d be here all night.” She laughed and soon Harry joined in. It was nice to laugh with her.

 “Peppermint,” she said to the Fat Lady after she’d recovered. She climbed through the portrait hole and Harry followed.

 The common room was full of students who had just come back from dinner. As they crossed the room, Harry looked around for Ron and Hermione but couldn’t see them. Instead, he caught sight of Dean and Seamus sitting in the same chair. Harry couldn’t tell whether they were snogging or just talking but either way they were incredibly close together.

 “I can’t believe no-one ever noticed them before,” Ginny said, having obviously spotted them too. “I can’t believe I dated Dean.” Harry laughed. “Urgh.” A look of realisation then disgust passed across her face. “I can’t believe I was his beard.” This caused them both to laugh more.

 Dean and Seamus had been very open about their relationship since coming back, although they’d never actually mentioned it and no-one had asked them about it. It was one of those things that everyone had just accepted. Hermione’s theory was that they’d been together for years but because of the war, they’d decided that it wasn’t worth hiding it anymore. She had also said he was pretty oblivious to not have noticed anything between them.

 “See you tomorrow,” Harry said when they had reached the doors up to the dormitories.

 “Bye, Harry.”


	2. “Keeping The Peace”

**DRACO:**

The common room was mostly empty as Draco made his way through it. There were a few younger students playing chess in the corner of the room who, when they saw him, quickly averted their eyes. This was a common occurrence now. Everyone knew that he had been a death eater and not everyone thought he should be back at Hogwarts this year. In fact, there had been a lot of students protesting to McGonagall when they found out he was coming back. McGonagall, however, was having none of it.

 "You haven't lost your right to an education just because of one small mistake," she had said to him. "And, Draco," she'd said as he was leaving her office, "if you ever need someone to talk to you know where to find me."

 Small was an understatement. The mistake he had made was immense and had cost a lot of people their lives, but for some reason, he wasn’t being punished for it. Honestly, he thought it was annoying how forgiving she was being. It reminded him of Dumbledore – and he did not want to be reminded of Dumbledore. He knew he didn’t deserve forgiveness after everything he had done so why was she giving it to him? _Urgh, it’s sickening,_ he thought as he exited the common room.

 He walked stiffly through the deserted corridors, constantly on edge in case he crossed paths with anyone. The corridors were riddled with reminders of the war - reminders of what he did. He couldn't help but feel responsible for everything. If he hadn't brought the death eaters into the school that night, Dumbledore wouldn't be dead, and so many people – reporters, ministry officials, and theorists alike - were saying how that was the catalyst for the Battle of Hogwarts.

 He was relieved when he made it outside without seeing anyone, and although most of the school seemed to be sat outside in the sun, there were fewer reminders of all the pain he had caused out here. He made his way over to the lake and sat down next to it, hoping nobody would notice him. The surface of the lake was shimmering in the sunlight but underneath the water was dark and gloomy. He stared down into the lake and soon got lost in his thoughts.

 Not long after he had sat down, movement nearby caught his eye. He looked up to see Harry Potter sit down on the edge of the lake not so far away from him. He looked preoccupied and didn’t seem to notice Draco. Draco unconsciously stared at Potter, watching him glare down into the water, and thought about how he had saved his life. Thinking about his life debt to Potter (of all people) made him feel humiliated. It was something he tried never to think about. He had spent a lot of time over the summer wondering why Potter had saved him from the burning Room of Requirement. He supposed it was a Gryffindor thing, or maybe a Chosen One thing, or maybe it was just something good people did. He had no doubt that if the roles were reversed he wouldn’t have thought twice about saving his own arse and leaving Potter to die, though he might have regretted it afterwards.

 When Draco realised he was staring, he quickly looked back down at the water, his face heating up slightly. The last thing he wanted was Potter to notice him and he definitely didn’t want him to try to talk to him, although he had a feeling the Gryffindor would try to eventually (probably about the life debt that Draco was trying so desperately not to think about). He wasn’t sure how Potter felt about him coming back to Hogwarts and he wasn’t desperate to find out.

Draco wasn't sure how much time he had spent staring into the water, lost in his thoughts, when he felt a pair of eyes on him. Looking up, he locked gaze with Potter, who was stood facing him. _Why is he looking at me?_ Now that he was looking directly at him, Draco noticed something he hadn't before: Potter looked tired. His green eyes had large bags underneath and his shoulders were slightly slumped. Draco looked away quickly, a blush rising to his cheeks again, and stood up. He couldn't stay there now that Potter had noticed him. _I'll go to the library_ , he thought as he hurried towards the castle, _he won't follow me there._

 The library was empty except for Madam Pince, who, upon his arrival, scowled at him and stalked away with her feather duster in hand. Draco ignored her and went to pick an advanced Potions book off a shelf before sitting at the table nearest the door. Resting his head in his hand, he forced his brain to focus on potions.

 Not long after that, Draco heard someone else come into the library. He looked up and to his surprise saw Potter walking in. He immediately looked back down at his book, determined not to stare as he had done before. _Why is he here? Maybe he is following me? Keeping an eye on me or something?_ Potter didn't say anything and just walked past him to a table. Draco again tried to focus his thoughts on his potions book but was unsuccessful. He couldn't help but wonder where Potter's friends were. It was strange seeing him not surrounded by Gryffindors or hordes of fangirls. He would never admit it to anyone, but he had always envied Potter's friends. They all seemed so close and he had never had friends like Weasley and Granger. Slytherin friendships tended to be more about alliances between families and while he did enjoy the company of his friends, he had no doubt that if it came down to him or them, they would all choose themselves in a heartbeat.

 When Draco was sure that he couldn't feel the prickling sensation of being watched, he turned around and looked through the shelf that was separating his and Potter's tables. Potter had his head down on the surface, his messy black hair was fanned out around his head and his glasses were pushed into an awkward position on his face. Draco was surprised: he had never seen Potter like this and wondered what on earth was wrong with him. Deciding it was not something he should concern himself with, Draco turned back around and fixed his eyes on his book again, telling his brain to focus on potions.

 He sat there for a while, eventually getting lost in the book and forgetting about Potter until he heard a page turn behind him. Sneaking a glance at Potter again, he saw that he too had a book open in front of him. Although Draco couldn't see what the book was, he could tell by the state of it that it wasn't a library book. Madam Pince was too protective of her precious books to let one get so worn. Potter was paging through the book, with a look on his face that suggested he wasn't really concentrating on reading it.

 Draco looked away again and looked down at his watch. It was almost 6 o'clock; almost dinner time, he noticed, although he wasn't planning on going to dinner. He began to read again, losing himself in potions once more.

 "Shouldn't you be getting to dinner, Potter?" He heard Madam Pince say from the other side of the nearby shelf where Potter was sat. He glanced back and saw Potter looking slightly surprised. Draco didn't blame him; he'd never heard Madam Pince talk to anyone in the library without her signature Get-Your-Filthy-Hands-Off-My-Beautiful-Books-You-Miscreant voice.

 "I- Oh- I didn't realise the time," Potter said.

 "Yes. Well. Off you go." She shook her feather duster at him and Draco turned back around. He had always wondered why she didn't just use magic to dust the books. Or get the house elves to do it. Personally, he'd never so much as touched a feather duster in his life. He supposed she didn't even trust her own magic let alone the house elves to go near her beloved books. He heard the sound of a book snapping shut and a few moments later Potter walked past him, swinging his bag onto his shoulder. He didn't look at Draco who breathed a faint sigh of relief before turning his attention back to his book. He didn't need to wonder why Madam Pince didn't care if he was eating or not to know the answer.

 Draco didn't go to dinner. He wasn't hungry and even if he was, the glares he was subjected to while trying to eat were enough to put anyone off their food. When he arrived back in the common room dinner was almost over, so the common room was buzzing with that post-food contentment that - as surprising as it would be to the other houses - even Slytherins felt. He tried to slip through the common room unnoticed but was unsuccessful.

 "Draco!" A delighted shout came from across the room. It was Pansy. He turned in the direction of her voice and soon her face emerged from behind the particularly tall seventh year she had been obscured by.

 "Hey Pans," he said reluctantly. She stopped in front of him and raised an eyebrow.

 "Have you been off brooding again? No wonder everyone thinks you're boring now." She always had a way with words.

 "They don't think I'm boring, Pans, they think I'm evil. There's a difference." He began to head to the door that leads to the dormitories, but she stepped in front of him and instead steered him towards a sofa.

 "Well, I don't think you're either," she said a little flirtatiously. Draco groaned inwardly. She had been coming on to him since First Year. He had always tolerated it because it was good for his image. He couldn't have anybody figure out his secret. The secret that made him work so hard to perfect his occlumency. The secret that, if it got out, the best he could hope for from his family would be disownment, the worst would be something Draco couldn’t even bring himself to think about. He was gay.

 Homosexuality was the mortal enemy of pureblood families, especially ones with only one heir like his. He had come to terms with the fact that he would probably have an arranged marriage if the Malfoy line was to continue - he'd possibly even have to marry some distant cousin, although that wasn't something the Malfoy's generally did. Apparently, incest is better than being gay: that’s the conclusion he had come to. He tried to push the thoughts out of his mind and focus on Pansy.

 She didn't seem to have noticed that he wasn't paying attention to her and was now saying something about "stupid Gryffindors and their nobility".

  "Do you ever talk about anything else?" Draco looked up to see Blaise standing in front of the sofa, looking at Pansy with a slightly annoyed air about him. "Seriously, Draco, you look bored out of your mind." He sat on the sofa next to Draco and turned to face them. "Have either of you heard anything from your parents recently?"

 "I had a letter from them this morning," Pansy replied.

 "So did I," Draco said, although he suspected that even though his father's name was signed, he had had nothing to do with it. "Why do you ask?"

 "Well, apparently there's been some attacks on pureblood families. The Bulstrodes were the most recent victims."

 "Millie's family?" Pansy asked, looking concerned.

 "Yes, some distant relatives of hers."

 "Do you know what brought it on? And how come we haven't heard about his before now?" Draco queried.

 "You know exactly why, Draco," Blaise said with a sigh. It was true: he did know exactly why. In the aftermath of the war, the ministry had been eager to not report things about pureblood families who were possibly involved with the Death Eaters. They called it "keeping the peace" but everyone with more than a single brain cell knew that they were just desperate not to antagonise anyone else after all the corruption, and the best way to do that was to give no attention to any rich pureblood families. Little did they realise they were only antagonising those rich pureblood families.

 Draco inclined his head in a nod and pushed himself up off the sofa. "I think I'll go to bed now." They exchanged goodnights before he again began to head towards the dormitories.


	3. "Maladies Of The Mind"

**DRACO:**

It was a few weeks into the new term and Draco was feeling worse and worse by the day. Guilt was weighing him down like the infinite darkness of a black hole. Everywhere he went he was greeted with glares and whispers. A small part of his brain begged him to take up McGonagall’s offer of someone to talk to; the rest of it knew that doing that would result in the loss of the little dignity he had left after the war.

 “I’m going to the library. See if I can finish that potions essay Slughorn wants by tomorrow,” he told his friends one Monday night at dinner after he had finished his food.

 “Draco Malfoy without his Potions done? Maybe the end is nigh after all,” Blaise said as Draco stood up from the table. Draco rolled his eyes at him and left the Great Hall. The truth was, he had finished the essay days ago. He was going to the library to find any books that would help him stop feeling enough guilt for all the death eaters combined. Not that most of them felt any guilt about what they had done, of course – most of them were safely locked up in Azkaban without any regrets at all.

 When he reached the library, he discovered that it was not as deserted as he’d hoped it would be: there were three Ravenclaw girls that looked to be in their first or second year sat at one of the tables in the Potions section. _It’s a good job I’ve done that Potions essay then isn’t it_ , he thought as he walked past them.

 He chose a table as far away from them as possible and put his bag down. He wasn’t quite sure what exactly he was looking for, so he started looking in the household section of the library. These shelves contained books such as _Magical Methods Of Maintaining Milk_ (Draco had no idea why a school library needed a book about breastfeeding) and _Gilderoy Lockhart’s Guide To Household Pests_ (Draco also had no idea why anyone would read that).

 After he had looked through these shelves a while longer, the only book Draco had found that even looked like it would be any use to him was Common Household Ailments and How To Fix Them but, upon an inspection of the index, he found that this book just contained things like headaches and minor burns. Draco, knowing he wouldn't find anything else of use in this section, moved on to the Divination section. Most of the books here were rather woolly and there was nothing that could help him.

 Draco knew when dinner was over because a trickle of students started to arrive at the library to work on last-minute homework before curfew. He wandered around the library looking at the names of the sections, trying to decide where he would find a book that would help. Eventually, he decided that the healing section might yield some results and went to look in there.

 The books in this section were a mixture of old and new. He flicked through a promising looking book about injuries of war, but it was very dated and, from what he could make out from the worn and yellowing pages, it looked like all it contained were faded drawings of gory injuries. Draco shut the book in disgust and carried on looking. Next, he picked up a relatively new book about head injuries and flicked through it. It was all about cracked skulls and brain damage and the 'delicate art of healing the brain' which, although he thought it was quite interesting, wasn't quite what he was looking for.

 Eventually, in the very corner of a shelf, Draco found a book entitled _Maladies of the Mind_ which said on the back that it was about 'the topic of mental health that is so taboo and yet so prevalent in the wizarding world'. Draco flipped it open to the index and read the chapter titles. The chapter that caught his eye was the one entitled _Dealing With Your Feelings_. That looked like exactly what he needed so he took the book (along with the one about head injuries which he vowed to read later) back to his table and sat down.

 Draco opened the book and began to read the introduction. The book was written only very recently and the author, Susan Whisp, who was a half-blood and raised in the muggle world, said that among muggles the topic of mental health is taboo but among wizards, it's almost unheard of. He thought that made sense since Draco didn’t know anything about mental health and was sure that he’d never heard anyone talking about it. After reading the introduction he skipped straight to the chapter _Dealing With Your Feelings_ and began to read.

_If you are having overwhelming negative feelings, there are a few ways to deal with this. In some cases, just waiting it out will work but this is rarely the best way to deal with any mental illness. The best thing for you to do is to work to deal with your problems instead of letting them control your life. First, you have to think about what is causing these feelings to manifest inside you. This is the root cause of your problems and this is what you must address in order to feel better._

 Draco knew what the cause of his problems was: the war and his part in it. The overwhelming guilt he was feeling was as a result of all the lives his actions had ended. Now that he was thinking about it, he realised that he didn't even know the names of everyone that died in the Battle of Hogwarts. He wished he did so he could pay his respects to each of them and their families.

_One of the worst things you could do with an overwhelming feeling is bottle it up. You should never let negativity get the better of you like this. If you realise you have been bottling your feelings up, then you need to find a way to release them. This is a lot easier in the Wizarding World than it is for muggles as there are many more options for you. For example, if you are feeling overwhelming anger, instead of taking your anger out on someone, simply transfigure any old object into something you can hit or shout at to dispel your anger. You'll feel a lot better after this, I promise. Another thing you should do is find a place away from everyone where you can go if things get too much._

That’s what he needed: a place to go to escape everyone. Somewhere where he could finally have some peace to think through his problems and deal with them without worrying about who was watching. He supposed he could use one of the unused classrooms – there were even more of them now that large parts of the castle were still in repair. Glancing down at his watch, he saw that it read _20:52_ , which gave him just over an hour before curfew. He decided he would go and look for a disused classroom that wasn’t in too much disrepair.

 After he went to Madam Pince to borrow the two books (he guessed that she didn’t trust him with them since she didn’t look too happy about this) and packed his things away into his bag, Draco headed out of the library and to the fifth floor of the castle, where he knew there were quite a few unused classrooms. This floor had a number of windows without glass in and as a result, in typical Scottish fashion, a strong wind blew through the corridor and whipped through Draco’s robes as he walked.

 He peered through the doorways of the classrooms he passed. One of them was completely unusable: it had a chunk of wall missing and a good part of the room was buried in rubble. One of them looked fine at first glance but had a horrible putrid smell coming from it; he covered his nose and mouth with his sleeve and moved quickly away from that one. Another had blood splattered along the far wall; that one made him feel sick to his stomach.

 By the time Draco had walked right to the end of the corridor, he hadn’t found a single classroom that was suitable for what he wanted – it seemed like they weren’t used anymore for a reason. As he began to make his way back to the common room, thinking that he would continue looking in other parts of the school tomorrow, he began thinking about what he actually wanted for his own space. He didn’t really have an exact picture in his mind, but he knew he needed to be able to relax and think. He wasn’t sure when the last time he had been able to do that was: for so long he was constantly looking over his shoulder, even at the Manor (he wasn’t sure he could call it home anymore) he couldn’t relax because ever since the Dark Lord had been staying there, it too served as a reminder of his and his family’s involvement in the war.

 Just as he was reaching the ground floor of the castle he stopped on the stairs. He had just realised that he knew exactly where to find the perfect room: _The Room of Requirement._ Although he didn’t know whether it would still work after the Fiendfyre, he knew it was worth a try. After a quick glance at his watch told him he still had 20 minutes before curfew, he turned and began to jog back up the stairs, heading to the seventh-floor corridor with the tapestry of the dancing trolls.

He paced back and forth three times thinking hard about what he wanted. _I want a place where I can get over the war._ Once he had done that he stood and faced the blank wall. For a moment he thought that maybe it had been destroyed by the Fiendfyre after all until the door started to appear on the wall. He felt relief wash over him as he pushed the door open and went inside, eager to see what the room would be like.

 The room could not look more different to what it had looked like last time Draco was in there. Last time he saw it he was on the back of Harry Potter’s broom, being chased by sentient fire and surrounded by the junk he had hidden among while doing the Dark Lord’s bidding. That sounded crazy even to him, who had lived through it all. He reckoned that if he told his 11-year-old-self everything that was to happen in this particular room of the castle, he would never have believed it.

 The room was a cosy size - not too big and not too small. The floor had a plush looking carpet. It was light grey, the colour of smoke. In fact, the whole room had the same mild colour scheme. In one corner of the room, there was a small sofa and in another, there was a desk with a small pile of books sat on it. The back wall of the room was lined with bookshelves. These are what Draco went to look at first. Looking through the books, he saw that there was a good selection of Potions books and several books on mental health among others.

 Deciding he would finish looking through the shelves later, Draco made his way over to the desk and saw that there were two books sat there, along with a quill and an ink pot. One had a leather-bound cover and the other sat open on the table. His eye was drawn immediately to the large lettering on the open page that said: _Write your feelings down._ Draco opened the leather-bound book and saw that it was empty – it was a journal, he realised.

 Just as Draco went to look at the open book more closely, a loud chime nearly caused him to jump out of his skin. He looked around for the source of the noise and saw a clock on the wall that had not been there before. It read _21.55_. Five minutes before curfew. If there was one thing he knew for sure, it was that he could not be caught out of bed after curfew: he had only been let back into Hogwarts on the promise that he would not get into any more trouble. He ran out of the Room of Requirement and headed down to the dungeons at full speed, taking a few shortcuts that he had learned of in his sixth year.

 He reached the Slytherin common room just in time: as he entered, he saw the prefects getting ready to start their patrol. Panting, he rushed through the common room to his dorm, hoping nobody would notice him, and quickly went to bed, his mind buzzing with thoughts.


	4. "Literal Saviour Of The Wizarding World"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I didn't upload last week, I was swamped with college work and writing my personal statement for uni (such fun). But hey enjoy this chapter :)

**HARRY:**

A flash of red eyes. A flash of snake-like features. A flash of ghastly white skin. It was dark and cold. Harry was alone. He heard a frightened gasp leave his mouth but did not feel himself make it. It was as if he was separated from his body, although he couldn't see it. The darkness seemed to have mass: it was weighing down on him from all sides. His heart rate quickened, and he heard it thumping in the eerie quiet. There was a whispering in the distance - a snake hissing - a voice saying:

 "Harry Potter.”

The voice seemed to get closer and closer, closing in on him. The dark was a snake squeezing the life out of him until he couldn't breathe. He couldn't breathe. He couldn’t breathe.

 

 Harry awoke, gasping for air. He could feel his sheets twisted around him and fought to free himself as he regained control of his breathing. That nightmare was one he had often. Although he knew that Voldemort was dead, there was something so real about it that he just couldn’t explain. It felt as if Voldemort was right there with him, and as if he would always be there. Deciding he would never get back to sleep after that, he reached for his glasses and his latest jumper from Mrs Weasley and padded through the dorm and down to the common room.

 Only a few coals were still glowing in the fireplace as Harry sunk into a sofa in front of it, staring into the orange warmth. He had thought that once Voldemort was gone, it would be over, and he could go back to living a normal life. Not that he had ever had a normal life, but a safe life, at least. A life where he didn’t have to worry about his loved ones. However, Voldemort and his death eaters may have gone, but he still felt the same fear that he had felt the last few years. Maybe it had just become so deeply ingrained into him, that he would never be able to get rid of it.

 “Couldn’t sleep?” The voice came from the stairs up to the dormitories, making Harry jump. He looked up to see Ron, his hair messy as if he’d been tossing and turning in bed, stood in the doorway. Harry shook his head and looked back into the remains of the fire, unsure of what to say. “Me neither,” Ron said. “Mind if I join you?” Harry shook his head again and Ron came and sat down on the sofa next to him.

 They sat together in silence for a few moments before Ron said, “Are you still having nightmares? Do you see You-Know-Who?”

 “You know I think you can just call him Voldemort now, Ron,” Harry said. “And yes. I don’t think I’ll ever be rid of him, to be honest.”

 "No," Ron replied, quietly. "Saying his name reminds me of everything that happened. It reminds me of Fred."

 "Oh. I'm sorry."

 "No, no. You can say it. I know it helps you to feel in control. But for me, I don't think I'll ever be able to say it again. It's just too hard." Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Ron look down into his hands and they fell back into silence for a few minutes.

 It was Ron that finally broke the silence. "I see him you know. Fred, I mean. Whenever I try to sleep I see his face. I feel like I let him down in some way. I was supposed to be helping you defeat You-Know-Who but all I did was destroy one lousy Horcrux and I still couldn't even save my own brother."

 Harry was quiet for a second, shocked at Ron's vulnerability. Of course, he knew Ron was affected by the war - everyone was - but for some reason, he never stopped to consider just how much. He supposed it had been selfish of him to focus on his own problems after the war and not consider anyone else's. "That's not true, Ron, and you know it. There's nothing you could have done so stop blaming yourself. And you helped more than you give yourself credit for: it wasn't exactly easy to destroy that locket and you did save my life within that same hour."

 "Yeah I did, didn't I," Ron said, looking up at Harry.

 "And besides, I reckon I have more to blame myself for than you do," Harry added.

 "Oh yeah? How could the literal saviour of the Wizarding World blame himself for any of this?"

 "The entire battle was because of me, Ron. So many people could've been saved if I'd just-"

 "Just what? Just given yourself up? You couldn't have done that."

 "I wouldn't have died though, would I? I would have been just fine and Voldemort would have been made weaker earlier."

 "You didn't know that though, Harry. None of us knew that. You can't blame yourself for Dumbledore not telling you everything you needed to know."

 "Oh, and Dumbledore? I definitely could have saved him."

 "How? What could you have done?"

 "I could have stopped Snape before he even got the chance to do anything. He still would have been able to keep his cover as a death eater while not becoming a murderer if I had stopped him."

 "Harry, do you honestly think you could have done anything while in a full Body-Bind and with all those Death Eaters there?"

 "I could have..." He trailed off and looked down at his hands, where he could see his 'I must not tell lies' scar. "I don't know."

 "There we go then, that's settled, isn't it? You can't blame yourself for any of what happened."

 "Neither can you."

 Ron sighed and eventually said, "Okay so neither of us are to blame. Right?"

 "Right."

 They sat in slightly uncomfortable silence once more. While Harry thought it was a very good thing that he and Ron were talking like they used to, he still couldn’t get over the feeling that something had changed in their friendship. He still felt that, as selfish as it might be, no-one truly understood what he had gone through and what he was going through now. Everyone else had chosen to risk their lives to fight against Voldemort. He hadn’t. He had been thrust into something he didn’t even know everything about at the time and was given no choice but to fight. Of course, he was sure he would have fought anyway, but he would have liked for it to have been from his own bravery rather than the expectations set on him by the Wizarding World when he was just one year old.

 “Do you know what time it is?” Harry asked after a while.

 “No, but,” Ron replied, shaking his head before turning to look out of one of the windows, “it looks like the sun’s coming up.” Harry looked to see and sure enough, the sun was beginning to rise. “We might as well get ready for breakfast.”

 Harry nodded and together they went back up the stairs to their dormitory. When they got there, Neville was sat on his bed reading, already dressed, while Dean and Seamus were still asleep in their respective beds.

 At breakfast, Harry sat with Ron and Hermione and listened to them talking about that morning’s Daily Prophet. There had been a big article about how many shops and businesses were closing down - or being closed down – on Knockturn Alley.

 “A lot of people who would usually shop there are afraid to continue doing so because they don’t want to be associated with the Death Eaters. With the ministry finally cracking down on the Dark Arts, I don’t think the shops that are still open are going to be open for much longer, either,” Hermione told them.

 “Good,” Ron said. “That place gave me the creeps. Is Borgin and Burkes still open, do you know?”

 “No, that was the first one to go, with it having such a strong connection with Voldemort and all.”

 “Do you reckon they could extend Diagon Alley when all of it has closed down?”

 “They could try, yes, but would anyone want to open a shop in a place so strongly associated with the Dark Arts, and would anyone want to shop there?”

 They continued talking and Harry zoned out and looked around the Great Hall. There were a lot of people, but the hall wasn’t anywhere near full: there were empty seats on all the tables, where people should’ve been, but were no longer. Reminders of the war couldn’t only be seen in the people who were missing, either: The Great Hall, while it had been almost fully restored, still had many candles missing, and the windows that lined the walls looked slightly different. It wasn’t just physical differences, though. The great hall had a feeling like some of the homeliness and welcome that Harry had come to associate with Hogwarts had been sucked out of it. It took all his will not to think that just a few months ago he was fighting Voldemort in this very room, surrounded by fallen bodies. He shuddered slightly and looked up quickly to check that Ron and Hermione had not noticed.

 “It’s weird seeing Malfoy without his bodyguards, isn’t it?” Ron was saying. Harry looked over at the Slytherin table and saw that Malfoy was sat with Blaise Zabini and Pansy Parkinson. Zabini and Parkinson seemed to be deep in conversation, but Malfoy wasn’t joining in, he was staring down at his plate, which was still full of food. Harry quickly scanned the rest of the Slytherin table and realised with a jolt that this was the first time he had noticed that Goyle hadn’t come back to finish his Eighth Year.

 “I’m not surprised Goyle didn’t come back,” Hermione said. “I don’t know what he would gain from being here another year. He did his best work with the Carrows last year and I definitely couldn’t imagine him coming back after what happened in the Room of Requirement.”

  _The Room of Requirement._ That was the perfect place for him to go to be alone, Harry realised, provided it wasn’t destroyed by the Fiendfyre, that is. He considered asking Hermione whether she thought the room would still work but thought better of it. He would never get any peace and quiet if Ron and Hermione knew he was in there. He decided he would go and check it out before first period, so he excused himself from the table and headed for the seventh floor.

 Once he reached the tapestry of the dancing trolls, Harry walked back and forth three times and thought about what he wanted. _I want a place where I can get over the war._ The door materialised almost immediately, and Harry pushed it open and went inside.

 The room was medium sized, and all the furniture was different shades of grey. In the corners of the room, there was a small sofa and a desk, and the back wall was lined with bookshelves - a few books about Defensive Magic caught his eye. He noticed that there was a book open on the desk and he made his way over to it. The page that was open had large letters that said: _Write your feelings down_. Next to the open book was a leather-bound book that, upon flicking through the pages and seeing that it was empty, Harry quickly realised was a journal.

  _This is perfect,_ he thought and decided he would come back in the evening and spend some time here. Glancing at the clock on the wall, which Harry was sure hadn’t been there a moment before, he left the Room of Requirement and made his way to Transfiguration, his first lesson of the day.


	5. "Deer Caught In Headlights"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a shorter chapter today. Sorry about that. I guess I'm just a natural born procrastinator.

**HARRY:**

Harry had begun to love the time he spent in the Room of Requirement. It was a few weeks after he had started coming here and he was sat on the sofa with his legs curled up. This was something he had gotten used to since living on his own at 12 Grimmauld Place. With the Dursleys, he was rarely even allowed to sit on the sofa let alone relax on it like this, but since the war, he'd learned that he could sit however he wanted. He had his journal and a self-inking quill in his hands and was writing a new journal entry:

  _I haven't felt any better about the war today. I still feel isolated and I still feel responsible for all the deaths. Hermione told me that I keep disappearing, but she's noticed that when I am with them I'm not as quiet. I wanted to tell her that she also keeps disappearing with Ron, but I didn't want her to think I had a secret girlfriend or anything. I want to tell her that I've been coming to the Room of Requirement to try to sort myself out but I'm worried that if I did she would try to follow me. I know she just wants the best for me but sometimes she can be really overbearing._

_I wish there was someone who could understand how I was feeling. Ginny used to be able to understand, what with her also having been possessed by Voldemort and all, but now it's just not enough. She wasn't forced into this war as I was so there's no way she could understand._

 Harry's stomach rumbled loudly, disrupting the peace of the room. He glanced at the clock on the wall and saw that it was nearly dinner time, so he shut the journal and headed back to the Gryffindor common room. When he got there Neville and Ginny were sat by the fire and he went to join them, thinking that even these sofas weren't as comfortable as the one in the Room of Requirement.

 "Hi, Harry," Neville said as he sat down.

 "Hey guys," he replied.

 "Have you seen Ron and Hermione?" Ginny asked him, looking around, presumably to see if they were with him.

 Harry shook his head. "No, sorry. Did you need them for something?"

 "Not really but no one's seen them since last period. We thought you were with them because you disappeared at the same time but obviously you weren't," Ginny explained.

 "Yeah, where did you go off to then, Harry?" Neville asked.

  Harry quickly thought of a lie to tell them. "I was just taking a walk around the grounds, trying to clear my head, you know." The others nodded and seemed sated with his story.

 "Shall we head to dinner then?" Ginny stood up and Harry and Neville followed suit.

 

 Ron and Hermione showed up about ten minutes into dinner, sitting down opposite Harry and immediately digging into the food.

 "Where have you two been?" Ginny demanded as they sat down. Ron and Hermione glanced at each other and Ginny's face contorted into a grimace. "Actually, never mind, I don't want to know." She pretended to gag into her plate and Harry and Neville laughed while Hermione looked down into her plate and Ron turned a shade of pink that clashed horribly with his hair.

 Once everyone had recovered, the conversation turned to schoolwork and Harry zoned out, thinking about how he was planning on going back to the Room and Requirement after dinner and reading one of the books in there about Defence Against the Dark Arts. He had only read one of them so far, and that one had been very stimulating.

 Harry waited until they had all finished eating and were back in the common room before telling them he was going to bed. He climbed up to the dormitory and, after making sure there was no one else in there, got his invisibility cloak out from his trunk. He put it on and made his way back down to the common room. His friends seemed to be deep in conversation as he passed them, so they didn't notice him push past a second-year boy that was coming through the portrait hole. He only took the cloak off once he was a safe distance from the common room. He stuffed it into his bag and carried on to the seventh floor.

 Harry had become particularly jumpy since the war, so he nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw a figure come around the corner at the other end of the corridor with the tapestry of the dancing trolls at the same time that he did. He couldn't quite make out who it was because they were engulfed in shadow, but he was almost relieved to see that they also seemed to have nearly jumped out of their skin.

  He thought that whoever it was probably didn't know about the Room of Requirement and so he decided his best bet was to carry on down the corridor and wait until they had passed. As he got closer, however, the figure didn't move and when he got close enough to see who it was, he received another shock. Draco Malfoy. _Now he,_ Harry thought, _definitely knows about the Room of Requirement._

 "Malfoy?" Harry said, his voice coming out harsher than he had meant it too. He studied his face. He had bags under his eyes and his hair had obviously been neglected. He also seemed to be rooted to the spot, Harry noticed. His eyes gave him the look of a deer caught in headlights. "What are you doing here?"

 "Potter," Malfoy said, his voice sounding weak. Then he coughed and seemed to gain some courage. "I could ask you the same question."

 "I think you being here is slightly more suspicious that me being here, don’t you?”

 Malfoy's eyes shifted around, as if trying to look anywhere but at Harry. "I just wanted to see if it still worked after the, you know, fire." He hesitated before he said the word "fire" as if it was something he really didn't want to think about.

 Harry didn't believe him at all. Everything Malfoy had ever done in that room was bad, so it was fair to assume that he was up to something. "Well, I can tell you that it does still work so you can go now, right?"

 When Malfoy didn't move Harry stared him down until he started speaking again. This time his voice was a rushed whisper and Harry had to strain his ears to hear what he said. "I've been coming here to try to get over the war, okay?" Harry looked at him, stunned. He couldn't believe that Malfoy was doing the exact same thing that he was. "Are you happy now?"

 Harry nodded and eventually spoke. "Me too."

 "What?"

 "I've also been coming here to get over the war." Malfoy looked as shocked as Harry felt.

 A moment passed before Harry spoke again. "Well, are we going in then?"

 Malfoy took a step back and shook his head. "Wha-? No. I should get going. It's getting late."

 "Don't be stupid, you only just got here. And actually, I wanted to talk to you." Harry walked past the entrance to the Room of Requirement three times and thought of what he wanted, the same as he always did. "Come on," Harry said as the door materialised. Malfoy looked ready to vomit but followed him inside anyway.


	6. “Congratulations, you know the days of the week.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this is late, I'm terrible I know. Also, spot the AVPS reference :)

**HARRY:**

As they stepped over the threshold, Harry's eyes were immediately drawn to where he had left his journal before dinner. It was still there: sitting in the middle of the sofa. He couldn't help but notice, however, that there was another book that looked exactly the same as Harry's journal resting on the desk in the other far corner of the room. Malfoy rushed over to this other journal immediately and grabbed it, shoving it into his bag unceremoniously.

 "You have a journal, too?" Harry asked, going over to the sofa to pick up his own and put it into his bag, albeit more carefully than Malfoy had done with his. If there was anything he didn't want Malfoy to see (and there was plenty), it was his private thoughts and feelings.

 "Yes," Malfoy snapped. It sounded like he wanted to make some smart retort at Harry's expense but didn't. "How long have you been coming here, Potter? I thought this was my private space but apparently not."

 "We both thought that so there's no need to get angry, Malfoy."

 Malfoy huffed. "And I suppose you don't think I should be back here this year, either. Especially not since you saved my life and I did fuck all to deserve it."

 Harry was slightly taken aback by that. Although he had heard that some people were giving McGonagall a hard time over her decision to let Malfoy come back, he had never even thought that he shouldn't be allowed. "No," he said, his voice softer than before. "You have the same right to an education as anyone else."

 Harry saw a flicker of surprise pass over Malfoy’s face before he narrowed his eyes slightly as if he was considering whether or not Harry was making fun of him. “What did you want to talk to me about then?”

 “I wanted to know if you would give your mum a message from me.”

 “What? What could you possibly have to say to my mother?” Harry could tell Malfoy was getting defensive: his arms were crossed and tense, and he took a small step forward, towards Harry. Evidently, his mother was a touchy subject.

 “I want to thank her for saving my life.”

 Malfoy frowned. “My mother never saved your life, Potter, that’s ridiculous.”

 Harry nodded his head. “She did. She told Voldemort I was dead when she knew I wasn’t.” Malfoy looked shocked, but Harry didn’t miss his flinch at the name of his former master. His arms were still crossed but they had slackened. “Wait,” Harry continued. “You didn’t know that?”

 “No,” Malfoy said, looking at the floor. He seemed to be looking anywhere but at Harry. Harry wasn’t sure what possible reasoning Narcissa Malfoy could have for not telling her son that she lied to Voldemort’s ugly face, so she could go into the castle to find him – it was kind of a pivotal act, after all.

 “She didn’t tell you? That was kind of important.”

 Malfoy looked up at Harry, finally meeting his eyes. He no longer looked dejected. He looked angry. “What are you trying to say, Potter?” Harry jumped when he started shouting. “Are you trying to rub it in? My mother doesn’t even tell me about heroic deeds she’s done, huh? Well, it’s better than what you do, going around making sure _everyone_ knows about your heroic deeds. Harry freakin’ Potter: the perfect saviour. I suppose you’re just sad that you don’t have parents to be proud of you.”

 Harry clenched his fists. He should've known it wasn't worth trying to be civil with Malfoy. He felt his anger bubble up inside of him and could no longer control his words. "You don't want to get in a fight with me, Malfoy. You know you can't go running to daddy. He can't buy your way out of conflict for you anymore.”

 Harry swore he could see Malfoy's hands shaking slightly as he reached into his robes for his wand. He drew out his wand, but Harry was faster: " _Langlock!_ " Malfoy immediately covered his mouth with his hand, gulping wildly. His eyes filled with rage, but he turned and ran from the room. Harry watched him go, his stomach beginning to churn with a mixture of satisfaction and guilt as his overpowering anger subsided.

 Harry knew he shouldn't let himself get so angry like that, but it was so hard. He had gone through so much in his life and yet he never seemed to get anything good in return. He threw himself down onto the sofa in frustration, thinking about how he really needed to get his anger under control. After a few moments' thought, he remembered a book he had found some days earlier and dug it out of his bag. It was entitled _Anger:_ _Cool the Flames and Prevent Explosions_ and as far as Harry could tell, it was a muggle self-help book. Settling himself on the sofa, he opened it and began to read.

 He read for about an hour before deciding that he should head back to the Gryffindor tower. Even though he was only a few chapters into the book, he knew one thing for sure: he had to apologise to Malfoy, even if the git did start the argument (if Harry had noticed anything about Malfoy since First Year it was that he had a talent for starting arguments but not for finishing them).

 

 The Gryffindor common room was packed when Harry got there, in typical evening fashion. He had to weave his way through people in order to get to the dormitory stairs. In the dormitory, Ron and Hermione were sat on Ron's bed talking - something about cats from what he could hear - and Neville was sat on his bed reading a book with an intricate picture of a plant on the cover.

 Harry had reached his bed and was pulling his shoes off before Ron noticed he was there. "Harry! Where have you been?"

 "Oh, you know, around." Harry waved his hand dismissively and grabbed his pyjamas. He saw him and Hermione exchanging a glance but ignored them and carried on to the bathroom to get ready for bed.

 That night Harry dreamt he was back in the maze from the Triwizard Tournament, except everything was blurry. The green of the hedges was blurred with the mist, so he couldn't even tell in which directions there were paths let alone which way he should go. He walked forward with his arms outstretched until he was suddenly no longer surrounded by hedges. Looking around himself, he seemed to be floating in the mist, although he could feel the ground under his feet. He spun around, squinting, trying to see anything. He was surrounded by mist and there seemed to be nothing on any side of him. There was no evidence of the maze at all. He walked forward again, although that could've been the direction he had just come from for all he could tell. He was painfully aware of the cold air biting at his skin and his heart thumping in his chest.

 Then the hissing started. It was quiet at first, but it crescendoed until Harry was sure he could feel the air around him move as if a great snake was circling around him. He stopped walking and looked in all directions. Nothing. The hissing became whispering and he knew what the voice was saying even before he could hear it clearly: "Harry Potter". He felt a sharp jab of pain in his chest and awoke drenched in sweat with someone saying his name.

 "Harry." It was Ron, he realised as he came around. The curtains were drawn around his bed, but he could see the faint glow of daylight from behind them. "Harry, you awake, mate?"

 Harry rubbed his eyes as he pulled back the curtain and put on his glasses. Ron was standing by his bed, fully dressed, and there seemed to be no one else in the room.

 "Has breakfast started already?" Harry asked as he clambered out of bed and picked up his clothes.

 Ron glanced at his watch. "It's just starting now. Don't worry, we aren't going to miss it."

 Harry got dressed and together they walked down to the Great Hall, where Hermione was already sat reading the Daily Prophet.

 "You two took your time," she said, without looking up, as they sat down opposite her.

 "Yeah, sorry, that was me. I overslept," Harry explained.

  She looked up and studied his face. "Really? You look like you haven't had much sleep."

 "I had a nightmare but that's hardly unusual. It's fine, Hermione." Harry began dishing bacon onto his plate in order to indicate to her that the conversation was over. She must have understood because she went back to reading the paper.

 As he was eating, Harry looked over at the Slytherin table. He spotted Malfoy easily. He was sat with Blaise Zabini and Pansy Parkinson, but he wasn't talking to them. He must have felt Harry's eyes on him because he looked around and scowled at Harry when he saw him. Harry vowed that he would try and catch him when he was without his friends and apologise, regardless of whether he got an apology in return.

 The way Malfoy had seemed so insecure about whether he should be back at Hogwarts surprised Harry. Before the war, Malfoy had never shown any emotion other than arrogance. He supposed that Malfoy had suffered too. As much as Harry hated him, he knew it wasn't right that he should be blackmailed into joining the Death Eaters. What surprised him most of all, however, was the fact that Malfoy had also been using the Room of Requirement as a place to attempt to recover from the war. Harry wondered what could have driven him to need a place to himself the same way he himself did.

 Harry had just finished eating when he noticed Malfoy get up from the Slytherin table and head out of the Great Hall alone. He quickly excused himself and followed Malfoy into the Entrance Hall. Fortunately, the Entrance Hall was deserted, and so Harry jogged slightly to catch up with him.

 "Malfoy!" He shouted, and Malfoy stopped walking and turned around. He had stopped just before the stairs that descended to the Slytherin dungeon.

 "Potter," he spat when he saw who it was. "What do you want?"

 "I want to apologise." Harry was panting slightly from the jogging - he really needed to exercise more. "For yesterday," he continued. Malfoy was shocked into silence. He just looked at Harry and narrowed his eyes, as if deciding whether he was joking or not. "I'm sorry for jinxing you. I shouldn't have got angry like that. And I shouldn't have brought up your father, even though you did bring up my parents."

 Malfoy didn't say anything for a moment before he threw his hands up in frustration. "Why are you Gryffindors so noble? I refuse to apologise to you, Potter." He turned his back on Harry and began to walk down the stairs.

 "Wait," Harry said, following him. "I didn't expect an apology from you, I know how Slytherins are, but we do need to discuss what to do about the Room of Requirement." Malfoy stopped again on the stairs but didn't turn around. Harry had given the topic some thought during breakfast and thought he had come up with a perfect solution. "I don't want to share it with you, and I don't suppose you want to share it with me, either, but we both want to use it, so I propose we set aside days where one of us can use it and the other can't."

 "That's a surprisingly good idea coming from you, Potter." Malfoy still hadn't turned around but was obviously listening. "I'll take Monday, Wednesday, Friday, and Sunday."

 Harry thought for a moment. He knew that would give Malfoy more days than him but at least they would be avoiding conflict. "So, I'll take Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday."

 "Congratulations, you know the days of the week."

 Harry scowled but otherwise ignored the comment. "Deal."

 "Great," Malfoy said with a hint of sarcasm and then carried on walking down the stairs. Harry turned and headed back up to the Entrance Hall and then to his first lesson of the day: Charms.

 When he arrived, Ron and Hermione were already there, although there were still fifteen minutes before the start of the lesson. They were stood in the corridor outside the classroom and when they saw Harry approach they stopped whatever conversation they had been having.

 "Where did you go?" Hermione demanded.

 Harry quickly thought of a lie. "I left my essay in the dorm."

 Hermione seemed sated with this and turned back to Ron. "Tell Harry what you were just telling me."

 "My mum wrote. She said there have been loads of attacks on pureblood families recently. She said not to worry because it seems to only be ones that were associated with the Death Eaters in any way but that I should be vigilant."

 Harry was stunned. He couldn't believe that after everything that had happened, there were still people being violent.

 "Exactly, Harry," Hermione said, obviously having read his expression (she was very good at that), "it's terrible, isn't it? People think that they should take justice into their own hands but they're just making everything worse.

 Just then, more students from their class started filling the corridor and Professor Flitwick arrived, weaving his way through the many legs.

 "We'll talk about it later," Hermione said as they entered the classroom and took their seats.


	7. "In True Idiotic Gryffindor Fashion"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm very sorry this is so late (this seems to be a recurring thing whoops). I made it slightly longer to make up for it. Hope you like :)

**DRACO:**

It was a cold Saturday and Draco was sitting in the common room with Pansy. He was trying to help her with her Potions essay, but she wasn't concentrating on Potions. What she was concentrating on, however, was trying to make him as uncomfortable as humanly possible - although probably not intentionally. They were sat together on one of the green sofas in the common room and she kept shuffling closer and closer to him.

 "Make sure you mention that you have to stir anti-clockwise there," Draco reminded her. Her arm was already pressed entirely against his and she somehow managed to move even closer, without acknowledging that he had said anything. "You're not even listening to me, Pansy. I thought you wanted my help."

 "I do. I am listening." She batted her eyelashes at him.

 "Then why haven't you written down anything that I just said?" Draco was getting angry now. He pushed her away and stood up. Pansy looked shocked and slightly hurt; she had finally got rid of that stupid coquettish look off her face. Rendered speechless, she opened and closed her mouth a few times. "I'm going to go and entertain myself elsewhere since you can't even be bothered to take part in something you asked to do."

 "Draco-" Pansy started to speak but stopped as Draco turned and left the common room.

 He didn't know where he was going to go. He knew that Saturday was Potter's day to be in the Room of Requirement, so that wasn't an option. He walked up the stairs out of the dungeons and eventually decided to go to the library.

 Due to the weather not being great and it being a Saturday, the library was fairly busy. Draco passed lots of groups of people huddled together around tables as he made his way to the back of the library. As he got further away from the entrance, there were fewer people crowding the tables and near the back, he noticed Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger sat together whispering with books and parchment spread out in front of them. He walked past them quickly and chose a table as far away as he could find. As far as he could tell they didn't notice him. He wondered briefly if Potter had told them about their encounter in the Room of Requirement as he sat down and pulled a book out of his bag.

 The book was one he had found in the Room of Requirement and had thought looked really interesting: it was about the ingredients used in various healing potions. He began to read but found that Weasley and Granger's presence just a few bookcases away from him was very distracting. He thought about what Potter might have said to them about him. _Probably something about how I got so defensive when he mentioned mother or how I'm such an arsehole for not apologising back_ , he thought.

 Draco became conscious of the fact that he hadn't written in his journal since the encounter the previous day. He also hadn't removed it from his bag, where he had safely shoved it, so he rummaged around and brought it out. He considered for a second whether or not it was safe to write in it in public but decided that because there was no one around him, no one would see it anyway. He got out his quill and ink pot from his bag and began to write.

  _On Thursday, I ran into Potter outside the Room of Requirement. It turns out he has been going there too. For months I've been scared of seeing him just in case he tried to talk to me, but two days ago I had no choice but to talk to him. I was terrified at first. I was so scared that he was going to mention my life debt to him and say that I would probably be in debt forever because the war's over now so how would I save his life, and besides, he's the Boy Who Lived anyway, he doesn't need saving. He didn't mention it, though, and I was going to just leave and let him go in, but he said he wanted to talk to me. I actually thought I was going to be sick then. I'm glad I didn't, that would've been embarrassing._

_I was so anxious at this point that I couldn't even think of any quips in response to his stupid comments. I was also getting annoyed, though. I know I don't deserve it, but I guess I thought that I could at least have something to myself that would allow me to recover from the last few years. Apparently not._

_It turned out that Potter didn't want to talk to me about my life debt at all. In fact, in true idiotic Gryffindor fashion, he had to be all chivalrous and say that I had the same right to an education as anyone else. I think it was the exact same thing that Professor McGonagall said to me - it definitely must be a Gryffindor thing._

_He actually wanted me to thank mother for him. Apparently, she saved his life, which I didn't know before then. I thought he was making fun of me and mother, I still think he might have been. Then, I got angry and mentioned his lack of parents. I know I shouldn't have done that, but I wasn't really thinking straight. Then, he mentioned father and I went to hex him, but he got there first and jinxed my tongue to the roof of my mouth. If I wasn't angry before, I definitely was then but I couldn't do anything, so I just ran out. I wish I wasn't such a coward, Potter must think I'm pathetic. I'm not as angry at him anymore. Me bringing up his parents was probably much worse than him bringing up mine and I was going to jinx him if he hadn't jinxed me first, so I guess I deserved it._

_After I ran out, I ran to the nearest bathroom and stayed there until the spell wore off and I could move my tongue again. It actually didn't take too long. Then I went back to the dorm and went to bed, even though I was still furious. That night I had a nightmare that I was lost at the Manor and there were lots of little fires everywhere, but I couldn't use my wand to put them out. Nightmares aren't that unusual for me but this one was new. I wonder what it means._

_After breakfast yesterday, Potter came up to me and apologised. I was still angry at him and refused to apologise. I wish I had apologised because I don't think what happened on Thursday helped my guilt at all. Maybe if I'd apologised for something I might feel at least a little bit better. I think being around Potter, even just for that short amount of time, made me feel guiltier. He's a reminder of everything I did wrong and everything I could have done better. I should have chosen to fight against the Dark Lord like he did._

 Draco's stomach rumbled, and he realised he was quite hungry, having not eaten much at lunch earlier in the day. He decided he had written enough in his journal and packed his stuff away into his bag. The library was a lot less busy now, people had presumably gone to get ready for dinner. He couldn't help but notice on his way past, that Weasley and Granger were no longer there, either.

 When he reached the Entrance Hall, Draco began heading for the stairs down to the common room. He was stopped just before the stairs by a group of Gryffindors who looked to be in their fifth or sixth year. They were stood in front of the door, blocking his path, and they were all brandishing their wands.

 "We don't like having Death Eaters in our school," one of them said, stepping forward. The boy who spoke had sandy hair and dark eyes and his face was sporting a sneer that was not unlike one that Draco would have sported in the past. Draco gulped and took a small step backwards. He couldn't help his cowardly nature despite how much he hated it. His hands were shaking, and he could almost hear his heart thumping in his chest. He reached for his wand and this time he was fast enough (he refused to be bested by a Gryffindor again).

 "Impedimenta!" The sandy-haired boy was immobilised before he even realised Draco had drawn his wand. By the time the rest of the group realised what had happened, Draco was halfway across the Entrance Hall, running for the stairs.

 He sprinted up the stairs, with the Gryffindors close behind him. He passed some Ravenclaw First Years who must have been the first people going to dinner. As he ran past the first-floor corridor, he considered where he was running to. He knew a bathroom wasn't an option because that was too obvious, and he wasn't a Prefect anymore, so he couldn't use the Prefects' bathroom. He needed somewhere where if he managed to lose the Gryffindors, they wouldn't be able to find him. He knew what his only option was: The Room of Requirement. He just hoped Potter wasn't in there.

 Briefly glancing behind him, Draco saw that they were catching up to him. He shot a few stunning spells behind him and carried on running. People stood to the side of the stairs as he ran past them and he began tiring. He kept pushing but a horrible feeling of dread settled in his stomach. He knew they were getting closer and closer.

 Suddenly, as he was passing the fourth-floor, he felt a sharp, stinging pain across his back, quickly followed by another one across the back of his legs. The agony caused him to stumble but he carried on running, although it had become more like limping. At the top of the next flight of stairs, he stopped and turned around, not being able to carry on any longer. He was almost doubled over in pain, but he held out his wand and aimed a stunning spell at each of the Gryffindors individually.

 Draco could feel the burning pain spreading through his body but once they had all been stunned, he turned and carried on up the stairs, going as fast as he could. There was no one around as he staggered upwards, periodically checking behind him for his pursuers. When he finally reached the seventh-floor he was about ready to collapse and when he crossed the threshold of the Room of Requirement his knees buckled, and he sunk to the floor, groaning in agony.

 

 The first thing Draco noticed when he woke up was that his legs were throbbing. Then he noticed he was lying on something soft and comfortable. He blinked his eyes open and as his vision came into focus he saw that he was in the Room of Requirement, lying on the sofa. There was a figure stood over him - it was Potter, he realised - with his arms crossed. Potter was watching him intently and Draco felt a blush creep up onto his cheeks.

 "Oh, you're awake," Potter said when he noticed Draco looking at him.

 "Clearly," Draco replied. It was just his luck that the one time he had nowhere else to go, Potter was in here.

 "What happened?" Potter demanded, still looking down at Draco with his arms folded. Evidently, he wasn't too happy about being interrupted.

 Draco pulled himself up into a sitting position on the sofa. "There were some Gryffindors. They ambushed me." Potter looked incredulous. "They stopped me in the Entrance Hall and said something about how they didn't want Death Eaters in the school." His embarrassment intensified as he spoke. He didn't know why he was telling Potter this. It must have been something to do with the way he was standing: as if he would probably hex him if he didn't tell him what happened.

 Potter must have believed his story because he dropped his arms to his sides and sat down next to Draco on the sofa. "Blimey." Potter ran his hand through his hair. He seemed to be avoiding eye contact. "You have to tell Professor McGonagall."

 "Why would I do that?" Draco snapped. He was sick of the mock sympathy Potter had for him.

 "So that they receive consequences. Don't you want them to be punished? I'd have thought that was your style."

 "Why do you even care? I am a Death Eater, so they were perfectly justified."

 "You _were_ a Death Eater," Potter corrected. "And not even a very good one."

 Draco was getting frustrated. _Why is Potter so annoying?_ He pulled back the left sleeve of his robe and showed Potter the scar on his forearm, the permanent reminder of his mistakes.

 Potter visibly flinched but quickly regained his composure. "I knew it," he mumbled under his breath, but Draco heard him clearly. Of course, Potter and his friends would have discussed whether he had the Dark Mark or not. It seemed silly to Draco now that he had never considered that. He wondered how much they talked about him.

 They sat in uncomfortable silence for a few moments, both of them staring at what used to be Draco's Dark Mark before Potter said quietly, "This is why you needed a place where you could recover, isn't it?"


	8. "Who Says I Didn't Go Insane?"

**HARRY:**

Harry had been working on his Transfiguration essay all afternoon; it was about the moral and legal considerations of human transfiguration. He had just finished it and set his quill down when he heard the door of the Room of Requirement open and someone groaning, as if in pain. He whipped his head around and saw Malfoy sinking to the floor, just inside the door.

 "Malfoy? What-" Harry quickly realised that Malfoy was in no state to reply. In fact, he was barely conscious. Harry pushed back his chair and ran over to him.

 With Malfoy lying on his stomach, Harry could see that he had several small tears in his robes, some across his upper back and some across the back of his knees. He couldn't see what it was that had caused them, however. He levitated Malfoy's limp body onto the sofa, being careful that he didn't make him lie in an uncomfortable position. He watched him for a few seconds before realising that he wouldn't be waking up anytime soon, so he walked back over to the desk and packed up his Transfiguration essay.

 Once his bag was all packed, Harry went back to the sofa and stood over Malfoy, knowing he should wait at least until he woke up before leaving. He wondered what had happened to him. Obviously, it was so bad that he felt he didn't have a choice but to come to the Room of Requirement, despite it being Harry's day. He didn't think Malfoy would've come anywhere near if it hadn't been necessary. He probably got in a fight, Harry thought. He scanned Malfoy's body, looking for any signs of an injury he might not have spotted. When he looked back at Malfoy's face, their eyes met, and Harry realised he was awake.

 "Oh, you're awake," he said.

 "Clearly," Malfoy shot back at him. Obviously, he wasn't too hurt to act like an arsehole - even when Harry was trying to be civil with him. Honestly, Harry thought, bitterly, I'm not even surprised he couldn't stay out of here on my day. He's always been so entitled.

 "What happened?" Harry demanded. He wanted to know why he had been interrupted.

 Malfoy sat up on the sofa before starting to speak. "There were some Gryffindors. They ambushed me." Harry remembered Third Year when Malfoy provoked Buckbeak and then exaggerated his injuries and decided he would need more convincing than that. "They stopped me in the Entrance Hall and said something about how they didn't want Death Eaters in the school." Harry noticed a blush creeping up on Malfoy's cheeks, colouring his usually pale complexion. Malfoy's obvious embarrassment at admitting what happened to him made Harry think that maybe he wasn't lying, after all.

 Harry was troubled by how anyone thought that attacking someone they thought shouldn't be in the school was any different to how the Death Eaters had started out. He dropped his arms to his sides - they had been folded across his chest - and sat down on the sofa next to Malfoy. "Blimey," he said, running his hand through his hair. He didn't want to meet Malfoy's eyes: partially because he was ashamed that it was his own house that had done this, and partially because he didn't want him to see how he was feeling. "You have to tell Professor McGonagall." He hoped that she would be able to stop this before it escalates, although he wasn't sure when he started caring about what happened to Malfoy. Just last year he would have been elated if his rival had been attacked.

 "Why would I do that?" Malfoy snapped.

 "So that they receive consequences. Don't you want them to be punished? I'd have thought that was your style."

 "Why do you even care? I am a Death Eater, so they were perfectly justified."

 For some reason Harry hated to hear that he felt like he deserved it - it just didn't seem right. After all, in the end, he didn't really contribute that much to either side of the war. "You _were_ a Death Eater. And not even a very good one."

 Harry wasn't prepared for Malfoy to pull the sleeve of his robe back to uncover where his Dark Mark had been. He flinched hard, remembering the head-splitting pain that mark had caused him. "I knew it," he mumbled. While he knew he couldn't tell Ron and Hermione about this encounter, it was nice to know that he had been right about Malfoy having the Dark Mark.

 Harry sat, staring at the skull-shaped scar on Malfoy's arm, unsure of what to say. He thought about Sixth Year when he had followed Malfoy around, determined to prove he was a Death Eater. He thought about how miserable Malfoy had looked and how he had backed down from killing Dumbledore after admitting that he and his whole family's lives were being threatened by Voldemort. He realised Malfoy never really had a choice on where he stood in the war, the same way Harry himself didn't.

 "This is why you needed a place where you could recover, isn't it?" Malfoy looked up and met Harry's eyes. "You never had a choice. Same as me."

 "What do you mean 'same as me'? You had a choice, didn't you?"

 "Not really. I didn't choose to be the Chosen One. My only options were to kill Voldemort or be killed by him. That's what the prophecy said, anyway." Harry didn't miss how Malfoy flinched at the name.

 "What did the prophecy say?"

 "Either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives," Harry recited. He reckoned he would never forget the words that had controlled his life for so long.

 "Wow," Malfoy said quietly. "When did you find out?"

 "Fifth Year."

 "Wow," he repeated. "How did you not go insane knowing what was coming?"

 "Who says I didn't go insane?"

 "Fair enough. That must have been terrible."

 "It was."

 An uncomfortable silence followed. Harry couldn't help but think about how for so long all he had focussed on was that prophecy. He had never thought about what came after and now he wasn't sure what to do. He looked around the room and noticed a large book that was clearly about potions on the bookshelf that definitely hadn't been there before. He knew immediately that it wasn't for him, it was for Malfoy.

 "I don't hate you y'know," Harry said, finally breaking the silence. "Not anymore." Malfoy looked up from his hands, where he had been staring, and surprise was evident in his eyes. His shoulders were stooped, and he had been fidgeting with the hem of his jumper, but his hands stilled instantly. There were a few moments of silence as they held eye contact. "I don't want to hold the past against you. As long as you don't hold it against me."

 Another moment of silence before Malfoy slowly nodded. "Okay."

 "And maybe this whole only being allowed in here on certain days thing isn't going to work."

 "It was your idea, Potter." Malfoy looked only slightly more cheerful.

 "I know." Harry scowled at him. "I think we should just come in here whenever we want and if we see each other then that's fine, we can just be in here together."

 "You really think that's going to work much better?"

Harry shrugged. "We can try."

 Malfoy sighed. "Okay, fine, we can try."

 Harry smiled and stood up from the sofa, glancing at the clock on the wall. "I reckon we should still be able to make it to dinner. Can you stand?" Malfoy swung his legs off the sofa and pushed himself up, wincing slightly.

 "I'm fine," he said, stepping towards his bag that was on the floor by the door, where he had dropped it as he entered. "You can go. I just need a minute."

 Harry, knowing all too well the desire to be alone, picked his own bag up and headed for the door. "See you later, Malfoy."

 "See you, Potter."

 

When Harry got to the Great Hall, there were few people still eating, but he noticed Ginny sat alone at the Gryffindor table and went over to join her.

 "Hey," he said as he sat down.

 "Hi, Harry," she replied, only briefly glancing up to look at him. She looked upset, Harry noticed.

 "What's wrong?"

 "Nothing, I'm fine."

 Harry raised an eyebrow. "You can tell me, you know."

 Ginny sighed. "It's just that-" she paused, "George wrote to me. He's thinking about closing the shop. He says it's just not the same without Fred."

 "Oh," Harry said, unsure of what else to say. He looked down at his plate which he had half filled with food.

 "It's fine though," Ginny continued, shaking her head slightly and pushing food onto her fork. "I'm sure everything will be fine." She sounded more like she was trying to convince herself than Harry, but he decided not to push her any further. He finished dishing out his food and began to eat.

 That night, when Harry was lying awake in bed, he thought about his conversion with Malfoy and wondered if they really could put the past behind them. He thought about how similar they actually were - he couldn't believe he hadn't realised it before. They had both had expectations forced on them from when they were young: Harry as the 'Boy Who Lived' and Malfoy as his family's heir.

 

At breakfast the next day, Harry was sat with Ron and Hermione. Hermione was reading the Daily Prophet, occasionally telling them things that were going on in the Wizarding World outside of Hogwarts, and Ron was stuffing his face with food, as usual.

 As Harry was finishing off his glass of pumpkin juice, he noticed Malfoy walk into the Great Hall. He was with Zabini and Parkinson, but he seemed to be trailing behind them. Harry watched as Malfoy walked over to the Slytherin table, his eyes scanning the room until they rested on Harry. They held eye contact for a split second before he looked away, a blush that Harry could see from where he sat rising on his face.

 Harry wasn't sure why he was suddenly noticing Malfoy, but he hoped that they could both get over their pasts and learn to get along.


	9. "They could be friends?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Teeny tiny chapter this week to let you all know that I won't be uploading for a few weeks as I am going on holiday.

**DRACO:**

Draco suddenly found himself noticing Potter everywhere he went. He wouldn't say he was purposefully looking for him, but his eyes always seemed to find him, anyway. He noticed him at meal times in the Great Hall; he noticed him in the lessons they shared; he noticed him in the library with his friends.

 He thought that the reason he had become so intrigued by Potter recently was that he was wondering why he had been so nice to him in their last encounter in the Room of Requirement. As much as he wasn't expecting any help from his former rival at all, he definitely wasn't expecting to be told that he didn't hate him anymore and that he wanted to put the past behind them. Does that mean they could be friends? Draco thought. It was all he had wanted when he was eleven. In fact, him being an arsehole to Potter and having his handshake rejected was the start of their entire rivalry.

 One thing’s for sure: Potter had definitely caught Draco’s eye right from the start.


	10. "Messy Hair Suited Him"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! Thanks for being patient everybody :) A cheeky bit of self promo: go follow my tumblr dilsgaydads. Thanks and I hope you enjoy the chapter!

**DRACO:**

 It was a cold Thursday evening and Draco was sat at one of the desks in the Room of Requirement (there were two now: one for him and one for Potter) working on his Potions essay. He and Potter had managed to be civil with each other since they decided to just both use the room together. Some days Draco got the room to himself, and he had to stop himself wondering what Potter was doing, and other days he decided not to go and had to stop himself wondering whether Potter was there or not. On the days they were both in there they had barely talked, just the occasional 'hello' now and again. It surprised Draco that they had managed to stop fighting with each other so quickly.

 Draco didn't even turn around when he heard the door open and close as someone walked in.

 "Hey," said Potter as he sat down at his desk which was a few feet away from Draco's.

 "Hello."

 Draco watched out of the corner of his eye as Potter pulled a roll of parchment and a quill out of his bag and set them on the desk. He then rooted around in his bag for a whole minute before sighing, setting his bag down on the floor, and turning in his chair to face Draco. Draco quickly pretended he hadn't been watching him.

 "Do you have any ink I could borr- oh!" Draco turned to look at him and saw that he was looking at the pot of ink that had newly appeared on his desk with mild surprise written on his face. Potter turned his face back towards him, the corner of his lips turning up into a smile. "Guess I forgot where we are." Draco wasn't sure why, but he couldn't help but smile back, although he quickly stopped and turned back to his essay, feeling his face heat up as he realised that Potter was still looking at him.

 "What?" He snapped, turning back towards Potter after he clearly wasn't making any effort to go back to whatever it was he was planning to do with the ink pot he needed. Potter recoiled slightly in shock and shot him an indignant look.

 "I just don't think I've ever seen you genuinely smile before, that's all." He shrugged slightly and ran his hand through his hair before turning back to his desk. Draco also turned back to his desk, although he couldn't seem to pick his essay back up. He was in shock. He hadn't even noticed it himself but that was the first time he'd properly smiled in years. He didn't think Potter paid enough attention to him to notice that. _Nonsense_ , he thought. He had always been an arsehole around Potter so the only smiling or laughing Potter would have seen him do would have been him laughing at someone or making a joke at their expense. It wasn't like Potter had actually noticed anything, it was just that whenever he was looking Draco was always bullying. It disheartened him to think that Potter only ever saw him as a bully and a Death Eater (although he wasn't sure when he started caring what Potter thought about him).

Draco quickly glanced at Potter out of the corner of his eye. His eyes were fixed on the parchment in front of him and while one hand was holding his quill just above the parchment, the other was running through his hair. Messy hair suited him, Draco thought. He tried to turn his attention back to his essay but eventually decided his efforts were futile - he couldn't concentrate anymore.

 With a quiet sigh, Draco started packing up his things. He couldn't help but notice Potter glance at him a few times as he was putting his books carefully into his bag. As he left, he took one last look at Potter, who was now writing furiously as if he had to get something down before it left his brain.

 The common room was just as busy as usual on a weekday evening: there were people playing chess or Gobstones or just talking and there were plenty of people trying to study (although how they could concentrate with all the noise, Draco would never understand). He noticed Blaise and Pansy having an animated conversation on one of the leather sofas. They didn’t notice him, so he went straight to his dorm.

 Draco quickly got ready for bed and lay down, closing the curtains around his bed with a flick of his wand. He got his journal and a self-inking quill – he didn’t want to risk spilling ink on his bed: cleaning spells weren’t exactly his speciality – out of his bag and started to write.

  _Today Potter and I actually spoke. Well, I mean, we didn’t exactly have a conversation. We greeted each other when he arrived, and he nearly asked me if he could borrow some ink before the Room of Requirement materialised some for him. He smiled at me, then. And I smiled back. Like an absolute idiot. Why did I do that? I should be able to control myself around Harry Potter of all people. Then he had to go and make it worse by saying that he’s never seen me genuinely smile before. Now I can’t help but wonder whether he’s actually noticed that I never really smile or whether it’s just because he only ever sees me being an arsehole. While I wish it was the former, I know it’s the latter. If I had a list of regrets, firstly, it would be very long, secondly, being a bully would definitely be on there._

_Growing up I had never been a victim, so I guess it was easy to bully people. But since father went to Azkaban and the Dark Lord started using me to punish him, I understand what I put people through a little better and I wish I’d never put them through it._

Draco looked up when he heard someone come into the room and head into the bathroom. Glancing at his watch, which he had placed on his bedside table, he decided it was time for him to try and sleep.

 He dreamt that he was at the Manor (he couldn’t call it home). He was in the drawing room which was set up for a Death Eater meeting with the furniture pushed up against the wall and a long table which spanned most of the room. There was no-one in there but Draco. He walked closer to the table and saw blood stains.

 A hissing sound suddenly filled the room and a fire burst into life in the fireplace. Draco looked around. He couldn’t place the noise. It seemed to be coming from everywhere at once. The hissing and the crackling sound from the fire got louder until he noticed that one of the chairs closest was also on fire. He jumped back from the table as the other chairs started setting alight too.

 He reached for his wand and pointed it at the flames in front of him, but no spell would work. He shouted extinguishing spell after extinguishing spell, but nothing happened. Soon, the table was also engulfed in flame. Draco dropped his wand and backed up towards the door. Sparks started flying towards him. As if they were trying to reach him. Trap him. Engulf him. He woke up sweaty and breathing like he had just sprinted around the quidditch pitch twice.

 

 At breakfast, Draco was hardly awake. He heard Pansy and Blaise talking about an article in the Daily Prophet, but he wasn’t paying attention. He stared down at his nearly untouched plate of scrambled eggs and bacon with his fork in his hand, as if he was going to eat more.

 That nightmare had shaken him. It was similar to one he’d had before but much more intense and unnerving. He didn’t know what to make of it. He considered finding a book on dream interpretation in the Room of Requirement, but he knew he would die of embarrassment if anyone – especially Potter – found out.

 At that moment, he happened to look up and see Potter and his friends walking into the Great Hall and sitting down at the Gryffindor table, Weasley with his back to him and Potter and Granger facing him. Draco was surprised that, even from this distance, he could make out the dark circles under Potter’s eyes. He wondered if he had stayed up late finishing whatever he was doing yesterday in the Room of Requirement, or whether he’d had a nightmare like Draco had.

 He shook his head slightly and looked back down at his plate, it didn’t matter to him what Potter was doing.


	11. "A Firm Decision About His Sexuality"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, I'm back! I apologise for my unexpected disappearance a lot of things happened. I got an interview for Cambridge uni so I had to prepare for that and then the end of term brought loads of deadlines so yeah, sorry again. My new year's resolution is to upload a new chapter of this every Sunday like I said I would. So yeah sorry again (I wouldn't be British if I didn't apologise three times) and I hope you enjoyed the chapter and happy new year :)

**HARRY:**

“Where did you go last night, Harry?” Harry was surprised they had even made it to breakfast before Hermione started grilling him on where he went. She usually didn’t last that long before asking.

“I had to finish my charms essay,” he told her. It wasn’t a lie. He had stayed in the Room of Requirement for hours after Malfoy had left. For once the reason he had got so little sleep wasn’t nightmare related.

 “That’s not what I asked, Harry. Where did you go? I know you weren’t in the library because I went to return some books and you weren’t there.”

 “Why does it matter where I was? I just needed to be alone, so I could concentrate.” That’s what he always said. Hermione huffed. “I mean, if you’d rather me stay and copy your essay then I could do. Then I wouldn’t have to concentrate.” She huffed again.

 “Now there’s an idea,” Ron said through his mouthful of food. Harry and Hermione instinctively leaned to the side to avoid being sprayed with little bits toast. Hermione grimaced at him and Harry stifled a laugh.

 Harry finally decided he was in the clear with Hermione – for now, at least – when the post arrived. She collected her Daily Prophet and immediately opened it out and began to read and Harry turned back to his breakfast.

 

 Harry was barely able to concentrate in Potions. The fumes from the very exciting potion that they were brewing – the name of which Harry had forgotten in the short amount of time since he last looked at his book - were rendering him nearly incapable of keeping his eyes open. In fact, considering his potion was a swirl of red, green, and purple rather than the brown it was supposed to be, he reckoned he’d managed to make it more exciting. He kept stirring sluggishly but to no avail: the colours just wouldn’t mix.

 “Having some trouble over here, Harry, m’boy?” Slughorn asked, walking over and peering into his cauldron after it had emitted a small cloud of purple gas. “Keep working on it. I’m sure you can fix it.” At the beginning of the year, Slughorn had been extremely disappointed to learn that Harry was no longer exceptionally good at Potions. He thought it was because of everything Harry had been through during the war. Harry didn’t plan on correcting him. Slughorn moved along to investigate Hermione’s cauldron which, unsurprisingly, was exactly the right shade of brown.

 Harry wiped away some condensation from his glasses as he continued to stir. His eyes began to wander around the class, looking at everyone’s cauldrons. His eyes settled on Malfoy’s, which Harry was pretty sure didn’t even have all the ingredients in it yet, since Malfoy wasn’t actually stirring it. He looked more tired than Harry felt. He seemed to be in the middle of chopping his Chinese Chomping Cabbage into slices, but the hand with the knife in it was stopped mid-air, and he was staring down at it as if in a daze.

 Harry studied Malfoy’s face. His white-blond hair was messy and falling into his eyes, which had dark shadows under them. Harry wished he would smile more; he didn’t want him to be so unhappy.  He didn’t know why he suddenly cared about the welfare of a Malfoy but he supposed it was because he felt like he owed his mother after what she did in the Battle of Hogwarts.

 “Has he said something to you?” Harry heard Ron ask from next to him. He quickly whipped his head back to face his cauldron and then looked at Ron.

 “Who?”

 “Malfoy. You’ve been staring at him for, like, five minutes.” Harry felt his face heat up. “If he’s said something to you I swear I will k- “

 “Ron,” Harry said, stopping him mid threat-on-Malfoy’s-life. “No, he hasn’t said anything. And I wasn’t staring at him. I was just thinking. I didn’t even realise I was looking in his direction.”

 Ron looked at him suspiciously for a moment before shrugging. “Okay,” he said, turning back to his cauldron, which, rather dishearteningly, looked closer to brown than Harry’s did.

 

 Harry was totally exhausted by the time he finally lay down that night. He wondered if maybe that would mean he could get a decent night’s sleep for once instead of being interrupted by nightmares, but, as usual, he was wrong.

 He dreamt that he was a graveyard. _The_ graveyard. It was dark and eerie and Harry could only look and listen and hope that no-one was there with him. He took a step and flinched at how loud it sounded in the quiet.

 “Hello?” A voice rang out from the darkness, causing him to recoil. He recognised it immediately, although he couldn’t see where it had come from. “Is somebody there?” It was Cedric.

 Harry looked around wildly, trying desperately to see through the murk. Then Cedric appeared in front of him. He had a soft glow around him, allowing Harry to see him clearly. He was just as tall as Harry remembered, and just as well-built. Neither of them said anything; they just looked at each other. Harry realised Cedric didn’t look like he had when he had died: he was wearing Hogwarts robes and didn’t seem to have a single scratch on him. Harry studied his face carefully. He looked just as alive as he ever did.

 “Harry,” Cedric said finally.

 “Cedric.” Harry’s heart was pounding in his chest. This wasn’t right. He looked much too handsome and much too alive. Wait – handsome? As much as he had tried not to be, Harry had always found himself jealous of Cedric’s relationship with Cho. Now, though, looking at Cedric like this, he felt like he understood Cho’s infatuation with him.

 “Thank you, Harry.” Harry pushed all those extraneous thoughts from his head and tried to think what Cedric could possibly be thanking him for. It was Harry’s fault he was killed, after all. Crouch had only been targeting him. Cedric’s death was unnecessary; he died a ‘spare’.

 His thoughts were interrupted when Cedric disappeared. He looked around but couldn’t see anything. The darkness seemed to have become more oppressive; he couldn’t even tell he was in a graveyard anymore. Suddenly, it got lighter, still dark, but lighter – light enough so that Harry could see further around him.

 The graveyard was just as overgrown as it had been last time he was there. In fact, everything was the same as it had been: the tree, the church, the hill, the house. Then Harry noticed Cedric was beside him again. This time, however, he looked like he had on the night he died. He noticed the Triwizard Cup on the floor next to them and he felt a feeling of dread settle over him.

 After that everything happened so fast. His memories flashed around him in a blur of pain and fear; his scar burned and his throat ached from screaming he hadn’t realised he was doing. Wormtail; Cedric; Voldemort; the Death Eaters; his parents; Cedric. Harry awoke with his heart beating fast, sunlight peeking through his curtains.

 When he had regained his bearings and his heartbeat had slowed, Harry put on his glasses and looked at his watch. It was still early for a Saturday, so he doubted any of his dormmates would be awake. He poked his head out of his curtains and sure enough, no one else was out of bed yet. He pulled his journal and a self-inking quill from his bag and settled back on his bed ready to try and make sense of his dream.

_I dreamt about Cedric last night and of course it was horrible but there was one thing that confused me. I don’t know if writing in here will help but when I saw Cedric in my dream, I felt some kind of attraction to him. I’m trying to remember back to fourth year when he was alive, and I think I found him attractive then too. I’m not sure, but I think I felt the same about him as I did Cho and Ginny, but that’s impossible: I’m not gay. If I was gay then I wouldn’t have felt the way I did about Cho or Ginny, so I can’t be gay._

_I wonder if it’s possible to be both gay and straight. I’ve never heard of it but then again, I’m not exactly well-versed in the topic. I’ll have to look for a book in the library. I’m pretty sure that I would get exactly the book I was after if I went to the Room of Requirement, but this is definitely not something I want Malfoy finding me looking up. At least there’s more space to hide in the library._

_Does being attracted to only one guy even make you gay? I’m probably just remembering Cedric wrong and overthinking things. I definitely know I’m attracted to girls so surely I’m just straight. That’s it. I’m straight. I’m just overthinking this._

 Having reached a firm decision about his sexuality, Harry hid his journal right at the bottom of his bag and got up to shower and dress before breakfast.

 Harry sat with Ron, Hermione, and Ginny at breakfast. They were talking about something Hermione had read in the Daily Prophet that was probably important, but Harry wasn’t paying attention. He was looking up and down the Gryffindor table wondering whether he found any of the boys attractive or not. He thought not, but his eyes lingered on Dean and Seamus, who were talking happily not very far down the table from him. He couldn’t help but wonder if he was like them. Maybe he should ask them for advice. Or maybe not, considering he didn’t really want to tell anybody and those two weren’t exactly his closest friends.

 “Harry,” Ginny said, from opposite him. “Are you looking for someone?”

 Harry looked at her and shook his head. “No. I’m just – I don’t know – distracted.” He remembered what she’d said about Dean at the beginning of term: ‘I can’t believe I was his beard.’ He wondered if she’d also been _his_ beard.

 “I’ve organised some people to have a friendly game of Quidditch since the championship was cancelled this year. Are you coming? I was counting on you for seeker.” When it was announced at the beginning of the year that the house Quidditch championship wouldn’t be taking place because the pitch and stands hadn’t been repaired yet (they had prioritised the castle), Harry hadn’t really cared. He was just glad to be rid of yet another thing that people expected of him. Since then, though, he had come to miss the freedom of flying and the peace it brought him.

 He nodded and quickly finished off his breakfast before the four of them headed down to where the Quidditch pitch used to be. Despite there not being any proper matches, the teachers had set up temporary changing rooms and a broom shed so that students could play whenever they wanted.

 When they arrived, they joined the small group of students milling around outside the changing rooms. There were some Gryffindors that Harry recognised and some Ravenclaws, including Luna, who did a little wave when she saw them. Ginny went to stand next to her, before addressing the group.

 “Hey, guys. I think everyone’s here, so we might as well get started. It’s going to be Gryffindor versus Ravenclaw, Luna’s going to commentate and everyone who’s watching can judge since we don’t have a referee. Okay?” There were murmurs of agreement and the small crowd dispersed, some people going into the changing rooms and some people, including Luna and Hermione, staying outside ready to watch and adjudicate.

  Harry and Ron were the only Gryffindors in the boy’s changing room so they ended up with a bench to themselves, but Harry couldn’t help but notice one of the Ravenclaw’s muscles as he was changing into his Quidditch robes. He felt a slight pull of arousal in his lower abdomen and turned away, his cheeks heating up. Maybe he wasn’t as straight as he thought.


	12. "The Boy Who Disappointed"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At this point you guys shouldn't even be surprised that I didn't even last a week with my resolution. Enjoy the chapter :)

**HARRY:**

Harry might have enjoyed the game of Quidditch had he not been distracted by his sexuality dilemma. The Ravenclaw seeker caught the snitch after twenty-five minutes, leading to Gryffindor losing by twenty points. After the game, Harry got changed faster than he ever had before and left the changing rooms to meet Hermione and Luna, leaving Ron with the Ravenclaws.

 "You were great, Harry!" Hermione exclaimed as he approached. She indicated to the Ravenclaw seeker, who was talking to Ginny outside the broom shed; neither of them had changed out of their quidditch robes. "There's no way she would have caught it if you had been practising, or if you still had your Firebolt."

 "Or if you didn't have something else on your mind," Luna added. Trust Luna to see right through him. He just had to hope that they wouldn't push it.

 Harry shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know, I mean, she is very good."

 "You are too, Harry," Luna said. "Even though our win was well-deserved."

 Harry didn't know what to say to that so he didn't say anything. Luckily, the uncomfortable silence didn't last long as Ron and joined them from the changing rooms a few seconds later.

 "Good game," Hermione said, smiling at Ron.

 "It was good to get back out there, you know. Even if we didn't win."

 The conversation continued as they walked back to the castle, but Harry wasn't listening. He couldn't help but wonder what his friends would think of him if he told them that he thought he might be a little bit gay. He had no idea what their opinions on the matter were as it was not something they had ever talked about. Rationally, he knew that they weren't against homosexuality because they seemed totally fine with Dean and Seamus being together, but maybe it would be different because it's him. He could imagine it popping their little bubble of friendship, or worse, they could tell everybody. Harry reckoned that no matter the views the Wizarding World had about gay people, there would be an uproar if that were to come out about him. It seemed like most of the country was eagerly waiting for him to become an Auror and then settle down and have children. Luna had told him in the summer that they just wanted to live vicariously through their hero, but that didn't change the crushing weight of all their expectations on Harry's shoulders. Harry Potter: the boy who disappointed.

 

 At lunch, Harry felt no desire to participate in any conversation but unlike at breakfast, he didn't want to look around at anyone. He stared down at his plate as he picked at his food. His friends were talking about their plans for the future; that seemed to be all they talked about these days.

 Hermione was telling Ron about the training process for becoming an Auror. "I've been reading about it. You will mostly just learn by being out in the field. A lot of the new recruits struggle at first with the intensity of it, but you and Harry are probably better than a lot of the trained Aurors, so you'll have no problems."

 "Great," Ron said. "I don't think I could stand being in a classroom any longer. Right, Harry?"

 Harry looked up slightly, not fully meeting Ron's eyes. "Oh, um, yeah." They seemed satisfied with this contribution.

 Harry started to hear their conversation as if he were listening from some distance - as if he were floating outside of his body. He felt like he was watching emotions playing out his head, rather than actually feeling them. Could he really be gay? What did that mean for the feelings he'd had for Cho and Ginny? Had he been lying to them? To himself? Was there a way he could be both? He had to find out. His body excused him from the table, without finishing his lunch, and walked from the Great Hall straight to the library. By the time he got there, he felt more in control. He wondered at what point in his life he started feeling better when he was alone.

 He had no idea where to start so he headed right to the back of the library to the Society section, where the quiet was comforting. Most of the books there were old and dusty. He was looking for any information on the acceptance or rejection of homosexuality in the Wizarding World and any information on being gay. He could have just asked Ron, but he didn't think he could bring himself to do that. That would lead to questions about why he cared, and he wasn't sure he could pull off a lie. He pulled book after book off the shelf but, although he found lots of mention of how Wizarding society was superior to muggle society, he found no mention of homosexuality.

 He had been there for a little over half an hour when he finally found the tiniest bit of information. He was paging through a book called _The Unwritten Rules of Wizardry_ \- which was relatively modern compared to the rest of the books he had looked at, even though it was clearly written by pureblood supremacists - when he noticed it in the chapter about relationships. It said:

_The most important thing for a young heir to do is to marry someone from a respected pureblood family and produce heirs of their own. If we do not rise up and save magical blood from being contaminated, we will surely be wiped out, and the muggles will take over. Note that homosexual acts are forbidden as they cannot produce magical heirs._

 Harry read through the whole chapter thoroughly to see if there was anything else but there wasn't. What he'd read had been pretty clear: homosexual acts are forbidden. It didn't tell him whether it was generally accepted by non-pureblood supremacists, however. He sighed and closed the book, pushing it back onto the shelf where it had come from.

 Someone cleared their throat behind him and he whirled around, his heart suddenly beating hard, to see Hermione stood a few metres away with her hands on her hips.

 "What are you looking for?" She said, stepping closer to him and peering around at the shelves. She sounded genuinely curious and Harry couldn't help but feel bad as he started to feel defensive over his secret.

 "How long have you been there for?"

 "A few minutes. I came to look for you because you ran off so suddenly at lunch. Are you okay?"

 Harry wondered how much of what he'd been reading she had seen but decided it was best not to ask. "Yeah," he said. She looked unconvinced. "I am now," he added, hoping she would be satisfied with that.

 She smiled softly and nodded, biting her lip. "I thought that having a game of Quidditch would be good for you but maybe it wasn't. I'm sorry if it made things worse."

 "It didn't, Hermione, really. It did feel good to get back out there, I just wasn't in the right frame of mind, you know?" She nodded again and he stepped closer and pulled her into a hug. "If I was, that Ravenclaw seeker wouldn't have stood a chance." She laughed, almost sounding relieved. Harry was glad to make her laugh; he really didn't mean to worry her, but he couldn't help but feel alienated from people.

 "So, you didn't answer my question before," she said. Harry groaned internally. He should have known she wouldn't drop it that easily. "What are you looking for in here? The Harry I know would never do voluntary research."

 As she stood there, looking at him expectantly, Harry knew that he wouldn't be able to get out this one: she would keep on trying forever until she found out what he was up to. Maybe it was better to ask Hermione anyway. It would definitely save him a lot of time looking for useless scraps of information.

 He gulped down the lump forming in his throat. "I was looking for information on how the Wizarding World views homosexuality." She looked surprised, like out of all the things she had expected him to say, that wasn't one of them. "Do you know anything about it?"

 The question seemed to remind her that they were having a conversation. "I don't know all that much about it actually. You should ask Ron. I doubt it's seen as that bad, though, since everyone sees Dean and Seamus together all the time."

 "The Gryffindors do. Do the rest of the school even know they're dating? What about the Slytherins? What would the Malfoys think about it, for example?"

 "The Malfoy's views are all wrong, Harry. Why would it matter what they think about it? No-one takes them seriously anymore, anyway." Harry realised he didn't know why he would care what the Malfoys thought, so he shrugged. "Why do you want to know about this, anyway?

 Harry dodged her question, although he suspected what he was about to say would reveal the answer. "Can I ask you a question, Hermione? You have to promise you won't tell anyone I asked you this."

 She looked slightly miffed at his ignoring her question but nodded. "I promise."

 Harry knew he couldn't go back now. He took in a big breath. "Is there a way to be both gay and straight?" The moment after that seemed to stretch out for hours in Harry's mind. Hermione was looking at him, registering what he had said, and thinking about what she should say. Was she going to laugh at him? Call him one of those nasty slurs that Uncle Vernon used to shout at the TV whenever a man did anything he deemed to be too feminine?

 In reality, though, Hermione just nodded and said, "Bisexual. Although it's not exactly like that."

 Harry was still holding his breath. "What is it like, then?"

 "It's liking anyone of any gender. So, yes, it is liking both the opposite sex and the same sex, but it's its own sexuality, not a mixture of gay and straight."

 Harry let out the breath he'd been holding with relief and found he had the strange urge to laugh out loud. There was a word for it. He was bisexual. It made so much sense now.

 "Is this what's been bothering you today? Are you bisexual?" Hermione asked. Harry nodded. "Oh, Harry. You didn't have to hide this from us. You do know we all love you no matter what, right?" Harry nodded again.

 "Please don't tell anyone," he said. "I'm not ready."

 "Of course not," she replied before pulling him into another hug. "I'm glad you told me this, Harry. I'm glad I could help you."

 "Thank-you, Hermione."

 "Now, do you still want to look through these books or will you come back to the common room with me?"

 Harry decided to go back with her. He felt like he had a massive weight off his shoulders, and he realised how long this must have been bubbling inside him without him realising it was there. He wondered how much would change now that he had admitted it to himself. He hoped any change would be for the better.

**Author's Note:**

> Hopefully, I will be able to update every Sunday. Constructive criticism welcome :)


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